


not a piece of teenage wildlife

by S_Hylor



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Dubious Consent, Homelessness, I mean slow build, M/M, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Tony-centric, Underage Drinking, Underage Drug Use, Underage Sex, Unhealthy Relationships, endgame Steve/Tony, glacial ice flow slow, slow build Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-09
Updated: 2018-04-08
Packaged: 2019-02-12 12:14:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12958965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/S_Hylor/pseuds/S_Hylor
Summary: Sixteen year old Tony Stark has managed to royally screw up his life. He can't go home, dropped out of university, and he's even managing to slowly destroy the one good thing he's got going for him - his relationship with Ty Stone.It might seem childish, but isn't this the point where some kind of knight in shining armour is supposed to show up and save him?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [quandong_crumble](https://archiveofourown.org/users/quandong_crumble/gifts).



> Thanks to quandong_crumble for the beta read, and for cheerleading this whole show. 
> 
> Yet another WIP, but this is one that I have big plans for. By big plans, I mean this is a story idea that has been hashed out and rehashed several times over until this, the final, even more angsty and terrible than the original idea, iteration of the story. 
> 
> Please head the warnings. This is not a happy fluffy story. This is terrible.

Tony wakes to a rough shake of his shoulder and barely rolls over enough to vomit to one side and away from himself. At least, he thinks he manages to avoid covering himself in puke, though he feels sticky all over so it might have all been a lost cause anyway. His head spins, brain slamming against his skull in an all too familiar fashion. Everything feels too loud and too bright and just too… too.

“Gross.” Someone mumbles. Most likely the bastard who woke him up. Tony just wants to roll over and go back to sleep. He wants to curl up against Ty’s suspiciously absent body and forget about existing for another few hours. Days. Weeks. Eternity.

“C’mon, you’ve got to go. The ‘rents will be home soon and I need everyone gone.” Not-Ty says again, voice unnecessarily loud.

Tony groans, and even that’s too much. “Fuck off.”

It feels like the bastard kicks him in the ribs. “You fuck off. This is my house. Jesus, my parents are going to kill me.” There’s a pause, another poke in his ribs. “Shit. Are you even legal?”

Tony groans again. That’s his cue to leave. He squints his eyes open, finding a somewhat concerned, mostly pissed off face staring down at him. Not someone he recognises, that wasn’t a good sign. Tony rolls over onto his stomach and waits for the world to stop spinning before he staggers to his feet, practically clawing his way up using the person standing over him.

The world sways from one side to the other violently. Tony barely keeps his stomach in check as he reaches up, pats the bastard who woke him up on the cheek and offers him a smile. “Great party. Thanks for the invite. See you next time.”

Before the bastard can recover, Tony staggers off toward the front door, joining the few other bleary eyed partygoers who are being evicted at an inhumane hour. He squints against the sun and the hangover, scanning faces to see if he can spot Ty, but no one looks familiar, so Tony keeps heading across the front lawn, kicking rubbish about when it gets in his way. The best idea, the only idea, is to head to Ty’s unit, drink his coffee, take over his bed, and hope that Ty will let him sleep for a few more hours before he gets horny and wants attention.

As he gets to the footpath, Tony nearly trips over a guy slumped against the mailbox, passed out. The guy has a pair of sunglasses perched on top of his head that look vaguely similar to the sunglasses Tony’s sure he was wearing yesterday. Even if they aren’t, his head hurts enough that Tony relieves the passed out guy of the sunglasses he isn’t even using and pushes them onto his face. The relief, what little there is, is instantaneous. Sighing in satisfaction, Tony crouches down long enough to check the guy’s pockets, finding a wallet and an old iPod Nano. A quick scroll through the artists proves a decent enough music taste, so Tony shoves the iPod in his pocket, and rifles through the wallet to take the entire $27.85, two condoms and a metro bus card, before stuffing the wallet back into the guy’s pocket and standing up again.

He pats the guy on the head. “Thanks, mate. You snooze, you lose.”

The metro card gets him two bus trips and a train ride to within two kilometres of Ty’s unit. The money gets him a packet of spearmint Extra, a bottle of water and a burnt tasting black coffee, and a two pack of Panadol with change left over. The iPod gives him an hour and a half of music while he goes from one bus to the next. The condoms, well, he figures he can save them for later, since he doesn’t think he can blow them up like balloons without throwing up in the process.

The train station is underground and is a welcome relief from the punishing sunlight outside, though the way every sound is echoed and amplified drives a hard bargain and almost makes Tony trudge back up the stairs to get away from it. He really wants to just get to Ty’s place though, and the train is the easiest and quickest way to do that. He uses the metro card to get past the turnstile and surveys the overhead schedule boards to find the platform he wants, weaving his way between people until he gets to the front of the platform. Pressing the ear-bud headphones back into his ears a little tighter, trying to cut out the other noise around him, Tony skips a Kate Bush song, because that is a level of high pitched he doesn’t really want to deal with right now.

The next song starts off, a slow sort of instrumental build up, full of guitars, something classically late Seventies or early Eighties. When the vocals cut in, Tony recognises the iconic voice as David Bowie. Bowie isn’t someone that Tony listens to very often. He knows the odd song, but Ty usually tells him off for playing the music he likes. If it’s not in the current Top 40, Ty doesn’t want to hear it.

Sometimes Tony thinks Ty is trying too hard to be cool. Not that it really matters to Tony, Ty’s the only thing going for him at the moment, so he’ll put up with his shitty taste in music.

Just out of spite, Tony repeats the Bowie song, tucking it away in his mind to look up the lyrics later on, and to see if he can find sheet music for it online, because his fingers are itching for piano keys that he hasn’t touched in nearly two years. Not since—. Well, just not since.

When the train arrives, Tony pushes his way into the flow of people, getting carried along with the other commuters until they spill through the doors and into the train carriage. He manages to snag a seat right down the end, flopping into it and taking up both seats so no one will think to try and sit next to him. He really doesn’t feel like dealing with people right now; he overdosed on them last night at the party. Waking up smelling like stale beer, cheap wine and vomit is enough to put anyone in a foul mood. That and the fact he woke up alone, which meant Ty abandoned him at some stage during the night.

Tony spends the train ride trying to block out the world, which he achieves for a few minutes or so while his eyes are shut. Every time he opens his eyes he finds himself at the end of some sort of disgusted look from a pram-pushing mother with a screaming child. Yes, he knows he’s disgusting, but at least he isn’t the one who regularly shits his pants and screams for attention, so he doesn’t feel like she or her offspring have any right to judge him. When the train eventually gets to his stop, Tony feels like his skin is crawling, from the way everyone keeps side eying him. He can’t get out of there fast enough, spilling out onto the platform and immediately turning down the street that he knows he needs to take to Ty’s place.

The walk is mostly up hill, so by the time Tony gets there he’s sweating, thirsty and feels about ready to pass out. Exercise and hangovers do not mix, Tony decides as he clomps his way up the stairs outside Ty’s apartment and bangs on the door. There’s no answer immediately, Tony keeps knocking on the door, tapping out random patterns, descending into binary code, tapping out exactly what he thinks of Ty leaving him behind. Then he hears footsteps approaching and the door in yanked open, causing his fist to collide with empty air and fall awkwardly back to his side.

“Hail, Caesar.” Tony smiles up at Ty, stretching his lips as far as he can, because it’s actually so good to see him again. He looks sleep rumpled, dressed in only a pair of cotton pyjama pants, slung low on his hips, and smells deliciously warm and clean. Tony has the vague urge to lick Ty’s abs, if he didn’t feel so shit, he might just have done that. It’s one hell of an icebreaker, and he knows Ty has a hard time resisting him when sex is on the table.

Ty frowns down at him, scanning over his appearance and scrunching up his nose. “Jesus, Tony, you look and smell like shit. Did you crawl through a gutter?”

Tony stuffs his hands in his pockets, tucking his arms in close to his sides, hunching his shoulders a little and hoping that he can pull off looking pathetic enough that Ty will let him in. “Only the gutter you left me in last night. Now, let me in. I need a shower and about fifteen more hours of sleep.”

Ty’s frown morphs into a glare, and he crosses his arms over his chest, stepping back just enough to let Tony in through the door. “I left you at that party because you threw a bitch fit when I said it was time to go home. Apparently you were having too much fun.”

Wracking his brain to try and drag up a memory of the night before, Tony only gets static. He takes the chance to duck inside though, before Ty can change his mind. Guilt simmers beneath the surface of his skin. Even if he can’t remember being a brat at the party and refusing to leave, he’s sure he must have. It’s not the first time he’s done it. Not the first time he’s woken up alone in some stranger’s house, not remembering the night before and having to find his own way back to Ty’s place, because he’d refused to leave with his boyfriend the night before. Hell, he’s not even sure why Ty puts up with him.

Once Ty’s shut the door behind them, Tony turns around to look at him, smiling softly, looking up at Ty through his eyelashes. “Sorry, darling. I’ll make it up to you after I’ve showered.”

Ty smirks, reaches out and cups his hand against Tony’s cheek, thumb dipping below his jaw to tilt his head up again. “You’d better. Now, go get clean. I’ll see what I’ve got in the way of hangover food.”

Leaning into the touch, Tony bats his eyes. “Burgers?” He asks hopefully.

Ty shakes his head, nudging Tony away as he pushes him further into the apartment. “You eat too much crap, you’ll get fat. It’ll do you good to eat something normal for once.”

Tony fakes a gag behind Ty’s back, then decides that was the worst idea ever, because his stomach rolls threateningly. Clamping a hand over his mouth, he beats a hasty path towards the bathroom, but by the time he gets there, the urge to vomit has subsided. Still, he’s where he wanted to be, and strips off quickly, turning on the taps to Ty’s shower, finding the right temperature. He steps into the shower, letting the hot water wash over him, instantly feeling better. Shampoo and body wash only improve things further, stripping away the yeasty stench of beer and the sickly sweet smell of wine that have haunted him all morning.

He’s leaning against the wall, arms propped on the tiles, head resting against them, letting the water flow down his back, debating whether to get out in order to find food, coffee and a bed, or to linger longer in the shower and saviour the feeling of cleanliness, when the bathroom door opens. He waits for Ty to tell him to hurry up; nothing happens for a few moments, then the shower screen opens and he feels Ty step into the shower with him, blocking off half the flow of water. Hands skate down his back and rest on his hips, thumbs pressing into the cheeks of his arse. Tony fights down the urge to squirm. He’s not really in the mood, doesn’t really want to be, but if Ty keeps touching him like that, it won’t take long for things to change.

Besides, he did pretty much promise Ty there was sex on offer.

Lips brush against the back of his neck, Ty’s chest pressing against his back. “You missed me, last night. Didn’t you?”

Ty’s words caress his spine, making him shudder, and whimper a little. Ty’s right hand leaves his hip, fingers slipping between his arse cheeks, rubbing against his hole. Tony whimpers louder, not sure if he means it in protest or in arousal; there’s heat pooling in his stomach, a sudden rush of blood south that suggests it’s the latter.

“Always.” He chokes the word out, and god help him, he means it. He wriggles his hips, pressing back against Ty’s fingers, chasing the pressure. Despite the pounding in his head and the steady nausea in his stomach, Tony wants it. He wants Ty’s fingers in him, his cock in him; proof that Ty wants him, cares about him. Loves him.

Ty’s fingers disappear, as does his left hand, Tony twists his head enough to see Ty reaching for the lube on the shower rack. He presses his forehead against his folded arms, stretching up onto his toes to give Ty better access when his fingers slip back down his crack and two push into him, pressing in with a slight burn that makes his breath catch in his throat.

Ty’s mouth presses against his shoulder, teeth scraping his skin, his voice is low, thick with arousal when he speaks. “Relax, babe. You know you want it.”

Tony sucks a breath in through his teeth, pressing back against Ty’s fingers, feeling them slip deeper, stretching and filling, barely grazing against his prostate, but enough to make him pant against the tiles. He wriggles his hips again, inviting, enticing, because Ty’s right, he does want it now, but he’s still missing the energy to work for it. Ty draws his fingers back out, pushing back in as he bites at Tony’s shoulder, sucking marks into his skin.

“Fuck, you’re tight.” Ty grates the words out against his neck, fingers pulling out and pressing back in. “The way you like getting fucked, you shouldn’t be this tight anymore.”

Tony smirks, even though he knows Ty won’t see it. “It my youthful resilian—” He breaks off into a yelp as Ty extracts his fingers, only to press back in sharply with three. He breathes in raggedly, trying to adjust to the extra intrusion. It takes several thrusts before his body gives, then he hears himself moan, and feels Ty’s answering smirk against his neck.

Ty’s fingers pull back out of him and Tony can’t help but groan at the loss, though he doesn’t have to wait long before he feels Ty’s cock pushing into him, slick, hot and insistent. Ty groans against his shoulder, teeth digging into his skin again, higher than before, right up against his neck and Tony knows it’ll show for a few days if he just wears t-shirts. Ty’s hands grab at his hips, pulling him back onto his cock as he thrusts the whole way in. Tony struggles to breathe, everything inside him feels momentarily displaced as his body tries to adjust. Ty pulls back, practically lifting Tony up again, before slamming back into him. It’s a knife’s edge between pain and pleasure, burning and hot and addictive, then it’s more pleasure than pain, and Tony can hear Ty panting and groaning in his ear, swearing under his breath and calling him names. He knows he’s moaning in response, heat building in his stomach, but he’s lacking the coordination to drop a hand to his own aching cock. He thinks he’ll slip and crack his head against the tiles if he tries, barely balanced on his forearms and toes as Ty slams into him again and again, fingers digging bruises into his hips.

“Fuck, you feel so good.” Ty groans, teeth catching on Tony’s ear, the edge of his jaw, right over the pulse thundering beneath his skin. “You love this, don’t you? You’re such a little cock slut.”

He groans, biting the inside of his cheek, spine tingling at Ty’s words, the way his voice sounds—so wrecked and wrung out—and he knows he caused those sounds. That he, and only he, makes Ty sound like this, feel like this. He clenches down, hears Ty’s breath catch, feels his fingers dig harder into his skin. Ty pulls him down onto his cock, burying himself to the hilt and keeps pushing in, holds him there as he comes. Tony feels it, hot, pulsing and slick inside him. His own arousal burns inside him, he feels his stomach drop, heavy with it, squirms and presses back on Ty’s cock, trying to chase more feeling, more friction, something to tip him over the edge so he’ll come untouched.

He’s so close, can feel it burning in him, nearly there, then his stomach jolts, twists and turns and he vomits against the tiles, acrid and watery, made up of alcohol, water and coffee. His head spins, the stench of vomit burning his nose, sapping all the energy and strength from his body. He slumps against the wall, feels the heat of puke against his chest.

Ty jerks away from him, pulling out of him and shoves him further against the tiles. “God, you’re gross. Jesus, Tony. That’s fucking rank.”

Tony barely props himself up, only just stops himself from sliding down to the floor. Come slides out of his arse and runs down his thighs, just adding to the mess. Fuck, he’s pathetic. “Sorry.”

Ty’s hands grab his shoulders and drag him around until he’s under the water again. It feels betters, feels cleaner. He opens his mouth to catch water, swishing it around his teeth and against his cheeks before he spits it out onto the shower floor. Ty’s hands touch his neck, his face, thumb brushing over his lips.

“I’ve got to go to class. You can sleep here for a while.” Ty says, his voice soft, caring, and Tony laps it up, leaning into his touch, chasing the attention.

“You can’t stay with me?” He knows he sounds pathetic. He feels pathetic. All he wants is to curl up next to Ty and sleep and feel safe.

Ty shakes his head, stepping back and opening the shower door, reaching for a towel as he steps out. “No can do, Marc Antony. Some of us have futures that we’re working towards. I’ll be back in a couple of hours. Clean up your mess, too.”

Tony blinks wetly at the closed shower screen, shivering despite the hot water. He picks up the loofah up he was using early and pumps more body wash onto it, scrubbing himself down again before he scrubs the tiles on the wall, washing his vomit down the drain.

He takes a bucket with him to bed, just in case, and tumbles under the covers wearing one of Ty’s shirts that’s miles to big for him, but smells enough like the man that he pretends Ty is still there with him, and not off at university. The thought of university makes his chest ache. He misses going to class. Misses learning; but after he left Obadiah’s place, he couldn’t even afford to make his compulsory student contributions on his tuition and he’d had to drop out. He should have been graduating this year with Ty. Instead he’s spending his time drinking too much and sponging off Ty.

He falls asleep feeling like shit, emotionally and physically.

Ty wakes him up with mug of coffee and a gentle smile, kissing his forehead and brushing his fingers through Tony’s hair. “Hey there, Marc Antony. How was the beauty sleep?”

Tony practically purrs, chasing the touch and reaching for the coffee, sitting up just enough so he can gulp it down in several mouthfuls. Ty takes the mug back from him, setting it on his bedside table as Tony slumps against his thigh, nuzzling against the fabric of his pants and closing his eyes again, fully intending to fall back asleep using Ty as a pillow. Fingers massage against his scalp, sending shivers of pleasure down his spine.

Tony reaches up blindly, grabbing a fistful of Ty’s shirt and tugging. “Cometabed.” He mumbles, rubbing his cheek against Ty’s jean clad thigh. “Cuddle with me and I’ll give you a blowie later.”

Ty chuckles, warm and deep, rubbing his thumb over the shell of Tony’s ear. “Come on, Sleeping Beauty, up and at ‘em.”

Tony wriggles around in bed until he’s lying on his back, letting go of Ty’s shirt as a lost cause and flopping his arm over his eyes dramatically. “Don’t wanna. I want you to get into bed so we can cuddle and make out. When I’m awake, I’ll give you a blowie and then you owe me food. I’m sure you promised me food earlier, and you never delivered.” He lifts his arm off of one eye and squints up at Ty, offering him a cheeky smile and poking his leg. “You’re such a tease. A food tease.”

Ty catches his finger and shakes his hand gently, his eyes and tone are incredibly fond. “I was going to offer you food, but you were so cute while you were asleep that I couldn’t bring myself to wake you.”

“You could feed me now.” Tony opens his mouth expectantly, and really isn’t at all surprised when Ty laughs, stands up and mimes undoing his fly. He laughs as well, chest feeling light and warm, pushing himself up until he’s sitting against the headboard and smacking Ty’s hip playfully. “Tosser, I meant food.”

Ty shakes his head, smirking like some sort of movie star and taking a few steps back, grabbing something off his desk and dropping it onto the bed. Tony blinks at the items, noticing that they’re his clothes from earlier, washed and still warm from the dryer. He looks at Ty, pouting. “You’re serious about this getting out of bed business, aren’t you?”

Ty shrugs apologetically, leaning down to cup the side of Tony’s face and kissing the tip of his nose. “I got a call about a half an hour ago. My parents are in town and want come over for dinner tonight. They’ll be here in about half an hour.” He strokes Tony’s bottom lip with his thumb, kissing him softly. “I thought I’d let you sleep as long as possible, but now you really need to get and, get dressed and leave before they get here.”

Jerking away, Tony scowls up at Ty, feeling his stomach drop and his chest grow tight. “Kicking me out like some sort of dirty little secret. That’s low, Stone.”

Ty straightens up, anger flashing across his face before he cups his hand over his eyes and sucks in a deep breath. “Jesus, Tony.” He drops his hand away, looking genuinely aggrieved. “They can’t find you here, in my bed, wearing my clothes. How’s that going to look?”

Scrambling out of bed, Tony starts pulling on his clothes with jerky movements, still feeling sick, but he’s not sure it’s a hangover anymore. “I don’t know, Ty. Maybe like I’m your boyfriend. I thought you said they knew you like cock.”

Ty catches his shoulders, jerking him around to face him and stoops down to look him in the eyes. He squeezes Tony’s shoulders, looking at him pleadingly. “That’s not the problem, babe, and you know it. You are my boyfriend, but you’re only sixteen. I’m nearly twenty-two. Don’t you know how much trouble I could get in if anyone found out?”

Guilt freezes the anger and rejection in Tony’s chest. He sucks in a sharp breath. Feels like shit. Ty is nothing but good to him, and at any moment he could get hauled over the coals by the cops just because something stupid like age. He bites his lip, blinking rapidly. He doesn’t want to think about what would happen if Ty went to jail. “Sorry.”

Ty leans in, kissing his forehead, his cheeks, his nose, wiping his thumbs under his eyes like he expects to find tears. “Hey now, Marc Antony. Don’t be sad. It’s just that the world doesn’t understand our love.” He tilts Tony’s face up and kisses him fiercely, like he never wants to stop.

Tony clings to Ty, he doesn’t want to let go. He feels terrible for being such a burden on Ty all the time. He loves him so much it hurts sometimes, and he knows Ty loves him. He just wishes that didn’t matter to the rest of the world.

Ty steps back, strokes his cheek once more before letting go. Tony wobbles there for a moment before he goes back to getting dressed, pulling on his shoes that he finds beside the bed as well. When he looks over at Ty again, he’s sitting on the edge of his desk, wallet in hand and fifty dollars held between his fingers.

“This is because I didn’t wake you up in time for food.” Ty apologises, holding out the money towards Tony. “So you can buy something to eat later.”

Tony takes the money, shoving it in his pocket before stepping closer to Ty again, leaning against him, pressing his face into his shoulder and inhaling sharply. “Can I come back tomorrow?”

Ty cups the back of his neck, kneading fingers and thumb into his muscles. He tilts his head and kisses his temple. “I don’t know, babe. I’m not sure how long my parents will be in town. And I’ve got a lot of work to do on my thesis. Probably better if you’re not around distracting me.”

Tony bites down on the words he desperately wants to say. The plea of ‘where else will I go?’ because he knows he can’t keep burdening Ty all the time. Instead he nods and forces a smile as he steps back, already heading towards the door. “Okay, Caesar. Guess I’ll catch you around.”

Ty doesn’t move from his desk, just returns the smile and give Tony a salute. “I’ll call you, Marc Antony. Once I’ve got some work done. We’ll spend all of this weekend coming together, okay?”

Tony jerks a nod and returns the salute, slipping out the door and heading for the front door of the apartment. The sun’s already set when he gets outside, the sky still light with its memory and streetlights already compensating for it.

It’s only Monday. The weekend seems impossibly far away.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the wait, I'm a slack, slack person. 
> 
> This chapter introduces both Bucky and Steve into the mix, though Steve might not be what everyone is expecting.

By Tuesday night, Tony’s down to $32.50 and his head is pounding from the lack of coffee. The iPod he stole is nearly flat, the depleted battery symbol accusing him of wasting it listening to one song over and over. He doesn’t stop though, listening to the same opening guitar riffs, the steady beat, the haunted vocals. The lyrics catch in his head and go around in circles because they just fit his mood so well. The song sums him up, he thinks, clicking back to the beginning again, using the music to block out the world around him.

The street is busy, despite it only being a Tuesday, and Tony would avoid it all together, except the crowd is easy for blend in with, his feet hurt, and his stomach has nearly folded in on itself out of hunger. The light up red sign and Golden Arches beckon him, a siren song for the starving man. Tony crosses the side street separating him from the McDonalds, glancing each way as he does, skipping up onto footpath and jogging a few steps into the store. The smell of food wraps around him, making his stomach growl so loudly that the guy wearing the unflattering uniform glances up at him from where he's cleaning rubbish off one of the tables.

Tony grins, falsely shameless and pats his stomach, winking at the guy as he heads for the counter. One thing he’s learnt, when dealing with people in general, is if you act confident and like you have every right to be there, they generally leave you alone.

The guy, blond and chubby in a way that Tony thinks is vaguely cute, jerks his gaze away from Tony, ears and cheeks going red as he angrily slams plastic trays together and stuffs rubbish in the bin, storming off to Staff Only door and disappearing.

Tony watches the door swing shut again, then glances down at himself self consciously, lifting his shirt up enough to give it a cautionary sniff. He knows he probably looks like shit, but he doesn't smell too bad just yet, and hell, this is Maccas on the dodgy street, surely he’s not the smelliest, most disgusting hobo who’s walked through the doors. He tries to shrug off the feeling, but it’s settled heavy in his chest now. That hopeless, useless feeling he gets whenever he spends too much time away from Ty. At least with Ty, he feels wanted and loved and for a few moments he can forget about everything else.

Thinking of Ty, he pulls his phone out of his pocket, but there’s no new missed calls. He stuffs it back in his pocket, feeling worse than before. He doesn’t really feel like eating any more either, but then his stomach growls again and reminds him just how long it’s been since he last ate.

He orders a double quarter pounder with large chips and a large Coke. He’d rather coffee, but he knows the sugar in the Coke will help more than a black coffee will. He finds a seat, tucked around the corner and devours the burger before he can think to saviour it, then, feeling vaguely queasy from gutsing the whole burger, he eats the chips one at a time, chewing each one until it’s mush and rolling the salty, oily taste around in his mouth before washing it done with careful sips of Coke. Despite his best efforts, it’s still too soon that he’s wiping his fingers around the inside of the chip bucket and licking the residue off his fingers.

His stomach feels distended, uncomfortably full. It’s a feeling that Tony knows won’t last, so he turns sideways in the booth and kicks his feet up onto the bench, leaning back against the wall, fully intending to enjoy feeling full for a while before he has to move off again. To avoid looking like he’s loitering, Tony gets his phone out and pretends to be messaging someone, though his credit ran out a long time ago, so he just types out theories and equations into a message to Ty that he will never send. He pauses every now and then, sucking on the straw of his drink, only getting vaguely Coke flavoured water as the ice cubes start to melt.

The iPod goes flat about half an hour after he’s finished eating, but he doesn’t bother to remove the headphones, figuring it’ll keep people away from him for longer. He keeps tapping at his phone, but the battery on that is creeping down as well, so after a while he just leaves it propped against his thigh, the screen black. The need to go to the toilet is getting to the uncomfortable point, but Tony’s reluctant to go, because once he gets up he knows he has no excuse to come sit back down again. Finally, it gets to the point where he can’t put it off any longer, so Tony drains the last watery Coke out of his drink cup and slides out of the booth, heading for the toilets at the back of the store.

Once he’s finished, Tony washes his hands, and scrubs water and soap over his face, using his reflection in the mirror to get rid of the worst of the grime. Glancing at the door, Tony flips the lock on it, a drags his shirt off over his head, using damp paper towel and soap to give himself a quick wash down, scrubbing at his armpits to try and get rid of the faint smell of body odour. He undoes his jeans and pulls them down far enough to do a quick wipe around his cock, balls and arse, then repeats the entire process with several lumps of damp paper towel to get rid of the soap. Getting dressed again, Tony scrubs at his teeth with the edge of one paper towel, removing the plaquey feeling from them, and pops a quarter a stick of Extra into his mouth to try and pretend he actually had tooth paste. His reflection stares back at him, cleaner, but still with greasy hair. He tries rubbing soap and water through it, but in the end he’s sure all he’s achieved it splashing his shirt with water and getting his hair wet.

Still, by the time he unlocks the door and exits the toilet, Tony feels somewhat cleaner and better presented, even if he’s still wearing the same day old clothes. Belatedly he thinks he should have turned his jocks inside out, but he figures they can wait another day hopefully, which should then get him through to the weekend, when he’ll have a chance to wash his clothes at Ty’s.

The blond guy is clearing up the rubbish from the table that Tony was sitting at before when he slips back into the store, heading for the front entrance because he knows that he doesn’t have any reason to linger any longer. The guy glances at him, then jerks his gaze away again. Tony jams the headphones back in his ears and shoves his hands in his pockets. He looks over his shoulder as he’s stepping out the door, because he feels like he’s being watched, and sure enough, the blond guy is staring at him again. For the hell of it, Tony smirks and winks, which makes the guy snap his head around again and go red. He’s not sure if it’s out of embarrassment or anger, but he figures if it’s the latter, the guy isn’t going to risk his job by having a gay panic moment over Tony’s half arsed flirting.

He fishes his phone out of his pocket again, glancing at the screen to check for missed calls or a message from Ty, as he steps out the door.

And straight into a brewing street fight.

Too late Tony realises what he’s walked into, bodies already clamouring around him, shoving and pushing, chests puffed and posturing. He sees arms and shirts and angry faces, black and white, so it must be some sort of racially driven scuffle. Everyone’s taller than him, and when he tries to squirm his way through the press of bodies, someone grabs the front of his shirt, whirling him around and yelling in his face. He can’t hear properly, not over his thundering pulse and the head phones jammed in his ears. He feels sick, terrified, and the last thing he wants to do is throw up the food he just ate. Someone pushes him, shoves him into the man holding his shirt, and something collides with his head.

His vision swims, he blinks blackness out of his eyes and feels something hot and wet trickle down his neck. The man shakes him, and he sees the fist coming, but all he can do is stare dumbly at it, brain taking too long to process what he’s seeing.

Then someone else is pushing themselves into the fray, hand knocking the fist out of the way and shoving the man squarely in the chest, pushing him back far enough that Tony’s shirt jerks free of his grip. The newcomer grabs Tony, one arm around his chest and the other hand closing around his left biceps, and he’s pulled bodily out of the fight.

They trip back inside the Maccas building, and someone pushes the sliding glass door across, shutting the noise out on the street just as red and blue flashing lights start bouncing around the street.

Tony finds himself dropped down into a chair, his head still spinning. When he glances around, he sees worried faces of various customers and workers, he spots the blond guy standing near the door, obviously the one who closed it. Someone pulls the headphones out of his ears and he jerks his gaze around to see a guy crouching in from of him. He’s got a puffy lip, and a red mark coming up on his cheek and he’s breathing hard. Tony blinks at him, taking in messy brown hair, soft, concerned blue eyes and the most gorgeous smile Tony’s ever seen.

“Hey, mate. You okay?” Gorgeous Smile Guy asks him, hands still cradling Tony’s face, holding his head up after he’d taken the headphones out, studying him carefully. “Mate, can you tell me your name? What day it is?”

Tony blinks again. His whole head hurts, pain pounding through his skull, and there’s something wet on the back of his neck. He reaches one hand up, planning the wipe away whatever it is, but Gorgeous Smile Guy catches his wrist and makes a shushing noise, like he’s trying to calm a wounded animal.

Someone else steps up, an older looking Asian lady, a gaggle of children behind her, and she holds out a bundle of damp paper towel, lumpy looking like it’s full of ice. “Here, let me put this on your head, dear. It’ll help with the swelling.”

She presses the paper towel to the back of his head, it stings, bringing tears to his eyes, which he rapidly blinks away, still looking the Gorgeous Smile Guy, who’s rubbing his thumb over the inside of Tony’s wrist, watching him with concerned eyes. He remembers that he was asked a question.

“Tony. Tuesday.” He mutters, feeling himself blush, because Gorgeous Smile Guy just smiles at him even more.

“That’s good. Jeez, mate, you picked the wrong time to step out onto the street. Lucky I was just on my way in here.” Gorgeous Smile Guy drops his hands away from Tony's face, pushing himself halfway up before reaching out and grabbing a chair, dragging it over to right in front of Tony and plopping down into it. He glances at the lady standing behind Tony. “How’s it looking back there?”

She draws back the paper towel ice pack, leaning in like she’s looking at the back of Tony’s head, she tuts softly before pressing the ice back again. “The bleeding is slowing down, but there’s quite a lump. He probably should go to hospital. My daughter is a doctor.”

Tony flinches at the idea of going to hospital. Hospitals ask questions. Hospitals expect sixteen year olds to have a parent or guardian present. Hospitals mean there’s more of a chance that he’ll find him. Gorgeous Smile Guy looks at him with concern, possibly mistaking his flinch as being one of pain. He pats Tony’s knee and keeps peering at him like he expects Tony to just keel over at any minute.

“That’s probably a good idea. The Royal isn’t all that far away, might be worth a trip to emergency.” Gorgeous Smile Guy says, glancing over his shoulder as he does to survey the street outside. There are still people milling around, police cars parked all along the street, lights bouncing all over the place. It looks like the main fight has been broken up, or at least moved on. “It might be a bit crowded there though.”

“I'm okay.” Tony mumbles, because he is. He thinks. Now that he’s sitting down and caught his breath and there is ice taking the throb out of the back of his head, he feels mostly okay. “I've got a thick skull, so it’s all good.”

Gorgeous Smile Guy looks back at him, a grin toying at the corner of his mouth, even though he’s trying to look serious. “Well, I guess your eyes didn’t pop out of your head, so they can’t have hit you that hard.”

The lady behind him makes a noise like she wants to interrupt, but Tony doesn’t let her get a word in. Distract and divert. He knows those tactics. He gives Gorgeous Smile Guy his most winning smile. “Like one of those funny animals on top of pens. When you squeeze their heads and their eyes pop out.”

Gorgeous Smile Guy squeezes his knee before he lets go, standing up and digging his wallet out of his pocket. “You don’t look like one of those bug eyed things.” He pulls a ten dollar note out of his wallet and turns to the blond guy by the door. “Hey Steve, make us a large hot chocolate, yeah?”

The blond guy―Steve—jerks like he’s been shocked, then quickly crosses over to them and grabs the money before disappearing behind the counter. Tony watches him scuttle off before looking at Gorgeous Smile Guy again, trying to raise his eyebrows in question, but it just makes his head hurt even more.

Gorgeous Smile Guy shrugs, taking a step to the side. “My brother. His shift is ending soon, I’m here to give him a ride. Which was lucky for you, mate. Here, let me hold that, so you can look after the little ones.”

It takes Tony a moment to realise that Gorgeous Smile Guy is talking to the lady behind him at the end and not to him any more. The ice shifts against the back of his head and he feels Gorgeous Smile Guy’s hand settle on his shoulder.

“I’m Bucky, by the way.” The hand on his shoulder suddenly shifts around in front of him, offering to shake.

Tony shakes his hand awkwardly because of the angle, snorting a bit at how ridiculous it all is, the hand shaking, the name, everything. “What sort of name is that? Sounds like a dog’s name.”

Gorgeous Smile Guy laughs, warm and hearty. “Thanks, mate, nice. My real name is James. And that just sounds like a stuffy old Englishman’s name.”

Tony feels something flutter in his chest at the sound of James’ laugh. He likes the name James. It reminds him of his friend from Primary School, before he started skipping year levels. “I like James. Though I think you should be Sir James. It’s only fitting of a knight in shining armour.”

James laughs louder at that, clapping his hand on Tony’s shoulder, sending an electric jolt down his spine. “You’re a funny bugger, aren’t you. Hell, mate, I was just doing what anyone would do. You got pulled into a fight you weren’t even part of, unless you’re like, some secret undercover skin head in disguise.”

Tony’s face feels hot, he’s sure his blushing, and his stomach turns in an entirely pleasant way. He reaches up a hand to touch his hair, still damp from earlier and getting long enough it’s starting to curl a bit. “Nah, no way I could be a skin head, I like my luscious locks too much.”

James ruffles the hair on the top of his head, careful to keep his fingers away from the lump forming at the back of his head. “Positively Pantene commercial worthy.”

“Herbal Essence.” Tony jokes, hoping James won’t notice the way that his ears and the back of his neck must be going red, and trying to suppress the shiver of pleasure running down his spine. He really shouldn’t be feeling this way about anyone’s touch other than Ty’s. The knock to his head must have him half delirious, getting all flustered and flirty with some stranger. Ty’s right. He’s such a fucking slut sometimes.

He's saved from his accusing brain, the sinking sick feeling in his stomach by Steve appearing back in his line of sight, depositing the steaming take away cup of hot chocolate on the table next to him. He closes his eyes, feeling to ashamed of his behaviour to even risk looking at any guy around him. Instead he stares at the hot chocolate, except that doesn’t work either, because he gets distracted by Steve’s hand, linger on the table. He’s bitten down thumbnail scrapes at the laminate table top, the rest of his fingers clenching and uncurling spasmodically. Tony can’t help but notice the faint blue lines of veins beneath his pale skin, running like road maps and he wants to reach out and trace them with his fingertips. He doesn’t though, because that would just be weird. He taps his fingers against the table top.

James shift the ice pack again, fingers of his other hand moving down to carefully part Tony’s hair. “You've got quite an egg on your head here, Fructose. The bleeding has stopped, and now the street is looking clearer, I think we’d better take you around to the Royal, make sure you haven’t rattled your brain or anything like that. And the hot chocolate is for you, mate, get some sugar into you, my boss reckons it helps with shock from injuries, if you can believe anything he says.”

It feels like James is mostly talking to himself rather than him, especially with the last part, so Tony just hums in response, reaching for the hot chocolate, because he’s not about to turn down a free drink, even if he’d rather have coffee. He gulps down a mouthful, then reminds himself to steady and savour it as long as possible, licking the chocolaty aftertaste off of his teeth and lips. “Thanks.” Then the rest of what James said registers in his brain. He really had hoped he’d drop the topic of going to hospital. “I'm okay now. If it’s not bleeding, it’s all good. I’ll just put a cold pack on it when I get home.”

As if to prove a point, Tony reaches one hand back, poking his fingers at James’ until he’s got hold of the make shift ice pack and is holding it himself. He tips his head back and flashes his best grin at James. “I've got plenty of brain cells anyway, so if I lose a few, it doesn’t really matter.”

James squints at him for a moment, then comes back around to sit in front of Tony again, his gaze careful. He leans in close and keeps his voice low. “Are you worried you’re going to get into some kind of trouble if you go to hospital? Like, medical bills that can’t be paid?”

Feeling the grin slip off his face, Tony glances away and shrugs his shoulders, flicking his thumbnail against the rim of the hot chocolate cup. “Something like that.”

James presses his lips together, scrubs his hand over his face and then drops it to clap Tony on the knee. “Okay, mate. I’ll do you a solid this time. I won’t nag you to go to the hospital.”

Tony sucks in a relieved breath, staring at the back of James’ hand where it rests of his knee. He’s got black permanent marker ink on his fingers, and scabs on his knuckles. There’s the dark line of a splinter on the side of his forefinger. He wants to put his hand over James’, to hold it there against his leg just to feel close to someone else. He’s barely spoken to anyone since he left Ty’s the night before, certainly no one who actually seemed to care about him. Not like James seems to care. He doesn’t reach out though, doesn’t touch him back, no matter how much he wants to, because he knows it’s weird. Ty tells him he’s too clingy. Ty hates it when he gets too close and touchy with people at parties.

James pats his knee, thumbing a beat out against his leg. “On the condition that you let me give you a lift home. I don’t want you walking around or catching a bus like that. If I can give you a lift home, I’ll feel better about not taking you to hospital.”

His shoulders tense and Tony almost inhales his hot chocolate as he takes another careful sip. Talk about being caught between a rock and a hard place. For a moment he panics at the idea of being taken back to Obadiah, insides turning to ice. He feels tricked somehow, like James was only being nice to lure him in before he betrayed him.

The moment passes, as Tony’s logical brain kicks back in. He feels silly in the wake of it, head spinning, feeling light. There’s no way James could know where he used to live, the place that was supposed to be home, so there was no way that James was going to return him to that place. It was just a friendly offer, made by someone who is concerned about him. That knowledge makes him feel hot and floaty, he wants to catch the feeling in his hands and hold onto it forever, but it’s fleeting and disappears too soon as he remembers he doesn’t have a home to be taken to.

For a second he entertains the idea of getting James to take him to Ty’s place, except he can’t. Ty said to wait for a call first. Or the weekend. He can’t just turn up on Ty’s doorstep, not if there’s a chance his parents are there. He can’t get Ty in trouble. He’s not sure what he’d do if Ty got taken away from him.

James is still sitting there, hand on his knee. When Tony glances up, James is looking at him expectantly, though his eyes and smile are still soft. He needs to answer, but his tongue feels thick in his mouth, so he just nods, accepting the offer.

James' smile grows. “Righty-ho then. I’ll go grab my car and pull up out the front, so you don’t have to walk far.” He swivels to look at Steve. “You all good to go, Stevie?”

Steve’s shoulders jerk, his brow furrowing, fists clenching tightly. “Um, yeah. I’ve just got to clock off.”

His voice is deeper than Tony expected it to be, because the guy’s probably shorter than him. He watches as Steve heads off towards the Staff Only door again.

James squeezes his knee briefly before standing up. “Okay, I’ll meet you out the front. I’ve got a 98 Corolla. It used to be black, but it’s pretty faded.”

Tony sits there, clutching his hot chocolate cup as James heads out to door and onto the street, turning right and breaking into a jog before he disappears from sight. He counts to ten, then stands up and heads for the door, glancing once behind him to make sure Steve hasn't re-emerged. When he gets out onto the street, he turns left, keeps his head down and walks as fast as he can without making his head spin. He cross the road into the pedestrian only mall, nearly empty since all the shops are closed, but at least, he reassures himself, they won’t be able to follow him in the car.

His heart aches inside his chest and there’s the persistent urge to turn around and go back and crawl into James’ car and maybe he can fall asleep there, safe. Maybe James would let him stay there, if he fell asleep before they could take him home. It’s a silly idea though. Because he knows that can’t happen. Still, he reminds himself. For a moment this guy with a gorgeous smile and warm hands looked after him and acted like he was important.

It’s a memory to cling to.

**Author's Note:**

> For anyone who is interested, the song that Tony keeps listening to is Teenage Wildlife by David Bowie. It is largely responsible for this story.


End file.
